


In Caelo, Ambulatores

by HopeLions13



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anidala Week, Arranged Marriage, Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Darth Vader's A+ parenting, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Multi, One Shot Collection, Rey is a Skywalker (Star Wars), Rey was born during the Empire, Skywalker Family Drama (Star Wars), Time Travel, chapter 2, even if she is also a Palpatine, none of the Skywalkers are emotionally sound, that's why we love them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28398015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeLions13/pseuds/HopeLions13
Summary: Summary: A collection of one-shots/AUs featuring our beloved Skywalkers and co. But mostly Luke and Vader.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader & Luke Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Rey & Luke Skywalker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	1. The Same Old Story

**Author's Note:**

> In all honesty, this will probably just be a collection of first-chapters and scenes to fics I’ll never write. That said, if people were to like them, I might just write them after all. If any of them strike your fancy to write, go ahead. Just drop me a line so I can read it. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An amnesiac named Luke saves Anakin and Obi-Wan, but the Council thinks he's too old to be trained.

“Too old, he is.”

Anakin couldn’t help it, the words made him angry. Immediately, he tried releasing it into the Force. That was what a good Jedi was supposed to do after all. But no. A good Jedi was supposed to never get angry in the first place. Anakin wasn’t a good jedi though—he never had been—so he had to settle on releasing the anger into the Force.

He succeeded, slightly, yet the pain lingered. That he’d always found harder to release. _Perhaps,_ he thought. _It’s not an emotion at all. Getting your hand cut off certainly can’t just be released into the Force. Pain doesn’t go away like that, it just doesn’t._

Especially not when it was continuously reinforced.

“The same age as you were, and that was too old,” Mace Windu reminded as if, somehow, any of them had forgotten. Anakin didn’t know how they could have forgotten, however. They’d already mentioned it half a dozen times since this council session had begun.

“I know, Masters,” Anakin accepted that, gritting his teeth. “But I adjusted just fine.”

Through the Force, Anakin could feel the Council’s credulousness. He couldn’t really blame them, but it only furthered the sting. Especially when Master Windu didn’t even attempt to hide his snort of disbelief.

“And Luke is a clean slate. He doesn’t even remember his life up to now. He has no attachments, no past, no _anything_ ,” Anakin insisted, passion building within him. This wasn’t fair! Not that he expected the council to be fair—they never were—but somehow it was different. This wasn’t them being unfair to Anakin, this was them being unfair to a defenseless nine-year-old amnesiac. A defenseless nine-year-old amnesiac that Anakin couldn’t get out of his head.

“All the more reason to be wary, that is,” Yoda insisted, calm and collected. That was probably one of the things that angered Anakin the most about the Grandmaster. It was also one of the reasons Anakin respected him the most. Life was complicated like that.

Master Windu shook his head, “Master Che is still uncertain if his memories will return. He’s extremely unstable, even _you_ must be able to see that. Say we did bring him into the Order, assign him a Master, send him into the field. What happens if he’s fighting an army of droids and suddenly remembers who he was? That level of distraction could be disastrous, for him and this war. Now is not the time to be taking risks like this.”

“With all due respect, Masters.” That was one of Anakin’s favorite phrases, because it applied especially to those he wasn’t sure deserved respect. “With all due respect, now is _exactly_ the time to be taking risks like this! We’re not going to win this war by playing it safe! We need every Jedi we can get!”

Obi-Wan must have seen his (recently) former-padawan beginning to lose it, because he finally stepped forward to interject. _Good,_ Anakin thought. _This is as much his mess as it is mine._

“What Anakin is trying to say, Masters, is that this does seem like the Force’s work. Luke was, quite literally, dropped into mine and Anakin’s laps. Unless we are to believe that Tatooine is full of highly Force-Sensitive children waiting to appear at moment of crises, this cannot simply be dismissed. The Force brought him to us for a reason. Why else if not for training?”

“And if it wasn’t the Force which brought him to you?” Master Windu challenged. “We know there are dark powers at work. What is to say this isn’t a trap laid by the Sith? For all we know, he could be a Separatist spy.”

Anakin didn’t understand why the Council was always so dense. Luke wasn’t a spy. He wasn’t a threat. Anakin knew that with every inch of his being. The Force screamed it. Luke was there to help them; Anakin knew it in his very soul. The Council should have been able to see it too. “He’s nine years old!”

“Nine years old with a midi-chlorian counter over 20,000. It is a masterful bait,” Master Billaba finally interjected into the conversation, her words made ever the more poignant by her—and the rest of the council’s—previous silence.

Anakin could have screamed. Luckily, Master Yoda interjected before he could. “In the boy, darkness, I see not.”

There was something about the way the Grandmaster immediately glanced at Anakin which made the knight wonder if the same could be said about him. Suddenly the screams of sandpeople rung through his mind. He pushed them down, out, away. He was not dark. He _wasn’t_. They’d deserved it. And even if they hadn’t…

“Darkness surrounds the boy,” Master Windu countered, though even he frowned. “But I must admit, it does not seem to come from within. The fact remains, whoever he was, wherever he came from, it was a place of darkness. If we bring that darkness within this order, it could corrupt us from within.”

Obi-Wan took one step forward, a small action, but it guaranteed every eye was on him before. “And if we send him back out, we could find ourselves facing further darkness from without. A method of entrapment or no, Luke’s midi-chlorian count is unprecedented…” _Except for Anakin._ “Or nearly unprecedented. Releasing him back into the galaxy in such a state could mean offering Count Dooku yet another dark acolyte. The last thing we need is more enemies.”

It was true, and every one of them knew it. Still, Anakin could feel the uncertainty of the Council. He could feel their fear. And despite everything they taught, everything they claimed, the High Council was too often ruled by their fear.

“The fact remains, he is dangerous,” Master Windu began, proving Anakin right. “And whether or not he remembers his life before now, he is not trained in our ways. He will not have the time to learn all he must before aging out of the Initiate program. There is a war going on, a war we must win if the Republic itself is to survive. We don’t have the resources to devote our attention to one child, however powerful he may be.”

The Jedi were always about the big-picture, the good of the many over the good of the one. So it would have been a fair argument, if only Anakin hadn’t known they’d made the same claims about him. There hasn’t even been a war then, no sign of one despite Maul’s appearance. And they still hadn’t ‘had the resources.’

“Master Kenobi taught me just fine without any Initiate training,” Anakin continued to press even though he knew he was losing. “Maybe I…”

“Suggest, do you that your padawan he should be?” Master Yoda interrupted, giving Anakin a dark look. “Forget, have you, Padawan Tano?”

Anakin had the sense to blush. The truth was, he had forgotten about Ahsoka. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the togruta—it frightened Anakin how deeply he cared about her—but it was all so new. Less than a year ago he’d been Obi-Wan’s padawan in a (relatively) peaceful galaxy. Now there was a full-blown war and he had a padawan of his own. _And a wife,_ he thought to himself, but crushed the thought as quickly as it came. The Council couldn’t read minds, exactly, but it frightened Anakin how perceptive they could be at times. Master Yoda especially…

“If I may, Masters,” Obi-Wan’s voice tore through Anakin’s heart, and the knight knew what was about to happen before it did. It wasn’t a vision, not in the traditional sense. No, it was just a decade of experience. _And to think Obi-Wan calls me reckless._

“As you say, we are at war, and this war shall decide the fate of the Republic. We need all the hope we can get. We need every last _Jedi_ we can get. That is why this council has urged each member of the order to take on a padawan leaner. I am a member of this order, and, as you may remember, had requested a new learner even before Anakin began to train Padawan Tano. Thus far, the Force has not seen fit to provide me with one. But it has provided me with Luke, and Luke must be trained. With your permission, I would take him on myself.”

The reaction from the Council was immediate and mixed, but Anakin knew most of them were against it. They’d been against it before Obi-Wan had even offered. It was not like Obi-Wan’s suggestion had been hard to predict. As different as they were, Obi-Wan had picked up more than one thing from his master. Collecting pathetic life forms foremost among them.

As unsurprised as Anakin was, he also found himself thrilled. There was no explanation, but knowing that Luke would be trained, well it meant everything to Anakin. He just knew it was the right decision. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and he could only wonder—and no doubt Obi-Wan did as well—if this was how Qui-Gon had felt about a different blond-haired boy from Tatooine.

And yet, as happy as the prospect made Anakin, it sent a trickle of jealousy up his spine. Obi-Wan had never wanted to train Anakin; they both knew it. He’d only done so because of a desperate promise to Qui-Gon, to a dying man. But Luke, Luke Obi-Wan wanted to train.

 _It’s because he’s better than you in every way. Even you know it,_ a dark voice hissed in Anakin’s mind. And as much as it stung, it was true. Luke was better than him, in every way. Perhaps the boy’s midi-chlorian count was slightly lower, but his power was astounding. Looking at him through the Force was like looking at a supernova.

And more importantly, he was good, good in a way Anakin had never been. The whole time they were on Tatooine, the whole time they’d been travelling to Coruscant, Luke’s goodness had just shown out. He was scared and confused—the amnesia didn’t help—but he’d made Anakin feel light in a way only Padmé normally could. Not to mention he’d saved Anakin and Obi-Wan by taking on a whole clan of Hutts with nothing but sheer instinct and a borrowed lightsaber. Taking on a whole clan of Hutts, beaten them, and let them _live._

Anakin could have done the rest of those things no problem, but the last bit? Not in all nine Corellian hells. If he hadn’t been unconscious at the time, if it had been up to Anakin, they would have been dead for sure. But Luke, nine-year-old Luke, had saved them all, regardless of if they deserved it.

That was a kind of goodness Anakin had never seen even within the Jedi Order. It was hard to believe Obi-Wan would have anything to teach the boy, except, perhaps, how to do all that without passing out at the end. It had been three rotations since they’d left Tatooine, and Luke had only woken up right before Anakin was called into this Force-damned meeting. He hadn’t even seen the boy yet.

“It’s impossible,” Master Ti, usually the most generous of the bunch, insisted. That certainly didn’t bode well. “You are one of our greatest knights, our greatest generals, Master Kenobi. Even if we were to ignore this boy’s irregularities, we cannot afford to place you with such a young padawan. It will be a great number of years before he is ready to face a war such as this, and we need you on the front line.”

A valid argument, except they were Jedi. Padawans did dangerous things all the time. Padawans died all the time. It was frightening, and horrible, but it was their way. If they wanted to talk about breaking their own code…

Obi-Wan seemed to sense that as well, and frowned. “The Jedi way has always been that padawans learn best by watching and following their masters, wherever they go, whatever they do. It may not have been a time of war, no, but I took Anakin on plenty dangerous missions at that age. If a mission is deemed too dangerous for Luke to accompany me, he can simply remain here in the temple, catching up on his academic studies. But the boy foiled a hutt _coup d’état_ without any training while Anakin and I sat in a cell. I am not worried about his ability to cope with dangerous situations. If the Force wills his safety, he will be safe. If the Force does not will it, then he could die crawling out of bed.”

Anakin blinked in surprise. He knew Obi-Wan had always favored the Unifying Force. Still, in all his years Anakin had never seen Obi-Wan this devoted to the ‘will of the Force.’ In fact, he’d remembered quite a few lectures about not trusting too much in the Force. _“The Force is like the ground; it shall always be there to catch you when you fall. Nevertheless, it is not wise to jump from the top of Republica500 and depend on either to protect you.”_

So what was this? Was Obi-Wan truly this convinced that they needed Luke? Perhaps, though Anakin didn’t like how that made him feel. Or perhaps Obi-Wan was just looking at things from a certain-point-of-view to get his way. That certainly seemed the most likely circumstance.

And the council likely knew the trick as well. Most of them appeared still unconvinced. Ultimately, though, they were all waiting to see what Yoda and Mace thought of the matter. Sometimes Anakin cynically wondered why they bothered having a full council at all; it was rare the pair did not get their way.

It was also rare for Mace Windu to agree to anything Anakin wanted, though, so he wasn’t holding his breath.

“Meditate on this, we should,” the Grandmaster suggested with a long sigh. “Discuss it with the boy himself, we must.”

“I’m not certain there is anything to discuss,” Master Windu said, but then Yoda glared at him, and even the stalwart master bent some. “But we shall see what the Force—and the boy—reveal.”

Anakin thought that was a likely no, but he also supposed it was the best he was going to get.

\---

Quite frankly, it concerned Anakin that his wife unabashedly ran towards the man breaking into her apartment during the middle of the night. Mostly, though, he just didn’t care. He wrapped her into a tight hug, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling her skin melt between his fingers. For a moment, everything in the universe felt right. For a moment, he was at peace.

But only for a moment.

He pulled away too quickly, and Padmé stiffened. “Ani? What happened? You landed this morning, what took you so long?”

Anakin could sense the fear radiating off his wife, the constant anxiety for his health and well-being. Guilt crept through him like a burrowing beetle. He hated causing his angel pain. Padmé deserved every sun, every moon in the galaxy, and instead she had Anakin. A husband who left her for months at a time….Who couldn’t guarantee he’d return… It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Just like so many other things in the galaxy.

“Ani?” Padmé tentatively asked, touching his shoulder gently.

 _She’s scared of you,_ a sick voice swore within his mind. _She’s seen you explode, seen your darkness, and she’s terrified of you._

Except she wasn’t, and Anakin knew it. Despite all his anxieties, he knew in his heart that Padmé wasn’t terrified of him, even if she should be. No, she was terrified for him and it made Anakin feel loved in the worst possible way.

He bent down, pressing a kiss against her forehead, wiping a hair from his mouth in the process. Force her hair was always getting everywhere, but she had it down for sleeping, the curls gently sweeping her shoulder, and it made him breathless. “Force, you’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful and I love you. You know that, right? I love you so much.”

“Of course I know that,” she answered, a furrow creasing across her brow. “I love you too. I just… I worry. Last I’d heard you’d run into a problem on Tatooine and I couldn’t help but think…”

_She couldn’t help but think it would be like every other time you were there, death, destruction, pain._ “I’m fine. It was… fine. Except…”

Anakin was not usually one to be at a lost of words, especially not around Padmé. Oh, he very rarely could think of intelligent things when in her presence. Usually he babbled on about a million stupid things. But she was the ignition to his very soul, and her sheer presence lit him on fire in a way nothing and no one else ever had. _Except…_

Anakin led Padmé to the couch, pulling her into his arms and holding her tight. He could tell that questions and curiosity burned against her, but the war had been going on for months now, and they were beginning to form a routine. Sometimes when Anakin came home he just needed to hold her. This was definitely one of those times.

After a long while, Padmé looked up at him, caution in her tired gaze. “Do you just want to go to bed?”

He considered it. Bed—their bed—sounded incredible. And there was a certain part of him which found the prospect rather… exciting. It had been too long since he’d seen her, after all. Too long since he’d actually remembered he had a wife. And yet, even the prospect of lavishing kisses all over her body didn’t excite him the way it normally would. It didn’t burn out the gnawing in his chest left by the memory of a sandy-haired boy from Tatooine lying asleep in the healer’s wing.

“No,” he finally told her, as much as it hurt him. “No, there is something I need to tell you first.”

She hardly moved, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. “They didn’t… they didn’t find out, did they? Ahsoka didn’t see you leave or…”

“Hush,” he told her, wiping the hair from her eyes. “It’s nothing bad. At least… I don’t think it’s bad. It doesn’t feel bad, not to me. The Council though…”

Anakin wasn’t sure the Council knew good or bad when it was staring them in the face. Dooku had been a Jedi, after all. Had they failed to see darkness in him and now expected to find it in Luke instead?

“It was supposed to be an easy mission. This new alliance with Jabba means we have to keep him alive. If Zero or any other member of the clan managed a coup, we’d lose those hyperspace lanes. We’d lose the Outer Rim.” Anakin knew all the justifications for protecting the slaving bantha poodoo. Somehow they just frustrated him more though.

“It’s not fair of the Council to make you be the one to do it, though,” Padmé sympathetically offered, sitting up and rubbing his shoulders. “They know of your history with him.”

She was right of course. Padmé was always right. But still, for once that wasn’t the problem. “No, that part of it was fine. It’s just that the moment we got there it was like we’d been plunged into the deepest Corellian Hell! There were hundreds of droids and Grievous himself! Obi-Wan and I got separated from Jabba, forced to flee into the desert. After a night in the Jundland Wastes I knew we’d die if we stayed out there any longer so I…”

His voice caught in his throat, but Anakin fought off the weakness. What was done was done. He couldn’t bring his mother back however hard he tried.

“We were near the Lars’s farm. Turned up dying of dehydration in the middle of Cliegg Lars’s funeral!”

Padmé gasped. “Oh Ani, I’m so sorry! What happened?”

Anakin realized she thought he was upset over his step-father’s death, and felt a twinge of guilt. He should be upset over it, but he wasn’t. There was a part of Anakin—a part he hated, but a part of him nevertheless—which was glad the man was dead. It was his fault his mother had died. What kind of person bought themselves a wife? Had his mother’s last years been miserable? Cliegg Lars had bought her, married her, then gotten her killed. Anakin couldn’t help but hate him, hate all of them. And yet… At least it seemed the man had gotten what he deserved. And ultimately, Owen and Beru hadn’t been anything but kind.

“It was his leg… the one the sandpeople mutilated. But Padmé, that’s just the start. Owen and Beru—they just got married you know— and they…they took Obi-Wan and I in, no questions asked. They were grieving and they still helped us.”

“I spoke to Beru some while you were…” Padmé couldn’t seem to bring herself to admit exactly what Anakin had done during that time. “While you were gone. She seemed like an incredible women, and you’re family Anakin. You shouldn’t be so surprised they helped you.”

But they weren’t family. Not really. His mother was his family. Padmé was his family. And maybe, if he was being generous, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were family too. Except neither of them wanted to be his family. Neither of them were allowed to be. So it was just him and Padmé; the two of them against the whole universe.

Except there was someone else, a boy who’d crashed from the sky.

“And then we were talking, just talking and… You won’t believe me Padmé, but it’s entirely the truth. We were just talking the four of us when suddenly out of nowhere this boy just falls into my lap.”

Whatever she’d been expecting, that wasn’t it. But then, who could ever expect something like that? Her hands stilled and she just stared at him, “What?”

“Exactly!” he told her, jumping to his feet and pacing across the smooth carpet. “There wasn’t anywhere from him to fall from, not unless he’d been jumping on the couch. But he couldn’t have been jumping on the couch because Obi-Wan and I were sitting on it! But there he was, out of nowhere. A child, one Owen and Beru had never seen in their lives, unconscious on my lap. And they couldn’t even see the way he shone in the Force. It was blinding! Padmé, his midi-chlorian count is as high as mine!”

From the frown upon her face, she didn’t truly understand the significance. Or maybe she was just baffled by how all this had happened. One way or another, now that Anakin had begun his tale he couldn’t stop.

“His name is Luke, Padmé, and he has no memories at all. Except that’s not true. He knew his first name. He knew he was nine and what a landspeeder was. He knew how to take apart and put back together a broken moisture vaporator! But besides that… nothing. He doesn’t know how he got there, he doesn’t know who he is. But sometimes I’d catch him staring at Owen and Beru, or even at Obi-Wan, and it was like he knew them. And I… I feel like I know him too which is just crazy. I’d remember if we’d met because looking at him is looking at a binary sunrise! But I know him Padmé, the Force screams it every time I look at him. But there’s no explanation for it at all.”

“And that’s why you were delayed getting back? Because of this boy?”

“Yes…or well, sort of. Obi-Wan and I may have also gotten captured by these rival Hutts. They were trying to barter with Grievous though and gave Luke the time to free us. But it was mostly Luke. The Council has to decide what to do with him. He’s the same age I was.”

With these last words, Anakin deflated, dropping onto the couch besides Padmé. She wrapped her arms around him tight, kissing the crook of his neck. Somehow, though, it didn’t bring him the comfort it normally would. For the first time in Anakin’s life, he was tempted to leave Padmé’s arms. Leave her and go sit beside that tiny child from Tatooine.

“It scares me how much I care for him,” Anakin admitted, the words lifting a bantha off his soul. This was why he loved Padmé, why she meant so much more to him than anyone else. Obi-Wan would tell him Jedi weren’t supposed to be afraid. Padmé would just love him and take away the fear.

“Of course you care about him, Ani. You care about everyone! And besides, he sounds like he reminds you of yourself. A little boy from Tatooine, strong with the Force, good with machine, a heart bigger than anyone you’ve ever met. It’s the same old story as how I met you, isn’t it?”

_Reluctant Council and all…_

“Obi-Wan offered to train him, but the Council is worried about the war. We just don’t know what to do with padawans these days. Without new Jedi, we’ll never recoup the losses we’re suffering, but bringing children onto the battlefield. At least Ahsoka knows how to handle a lightsaber. Luke doesn’t know his own name.”

Padmé nodded her head, biting her lip in the way she always did when thinking. It made Anakin grin and he stopped her with a bright kiss. “Be nice to those lips, they’re mine you know.”

She chuckled softly, kissing him again, but this was Padmé after all, and she couldn’t stop thinking for long. Finally she admitted, “I’m sure it will work out, Anakin, but if it doesn’t I’ll sponsor the boy myself on Naboo, make sure he gets placed with a good family. Or maybe Bail would take him…he and Breha have been talking about adopting for ages.”

Luke Organa, Prince of Alderaan—it would be a good life, but it felt all wrong to Anakin. That wasn’t what Luke was meant for; he just knew it. Luke was meant to be a Jedi, meant to be the greatest Jedi ever to live. They’d spoken for so long about Anakin being the Chosen One, but he knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t be, not with the darkness that lived within him. But Luke… Luke was everything Anakin couldn’t be. He was the real Chosen One, Anakin knew it, and he wanted to see the boy fulfill his destiny.

And yet… and yet there was a strange, paternal part of him that would much rather see the boy shuffled away to Alderaan or Naboo, safe and sound. It was so odd. Anakin had never considered being a father before, not by a long shot. Ahsoka was like his little sister, not like his daughter, but Luke. Luke was just so young. Anakin didn’t want to see him thrown into a war either, even if he knew they needed Luke.

“Have you ever considered it?”

Anakin shook his head, blinking at Padmé. “Considered what?”

She bit her lip once more, rolling it between her teeth. Anakin didn’t know the last time he’d seen her so nervous. But Padmé Amidala Naberrie Skywalker was nothing if not brave, and she trusted Anakin not to laugh. (Even if she didn’t trust Anakin to keep his cool.)

“Considered children…Not now, obviously. We’re both so young and there is a war and I don’t think… I don’t know how we’d possibly raise children when our marriage is such a secret. I’d have to resign, you’d be expelled form the Order but…Sola visited with he kids while you were away. They’re actually rather cute, now that they can talk and such. Pooja told me she wants to be a senator so she can wear her hair all fancy too. And it’s not that I want it exactly, but it just made me wonder... Well wonder if I ever _did_ want it, would you?”

Anakin would be lying if he said he’d never considered it. In fact, he’d pondered the possibility rather extensively. Most of the time this came in the form of crippling anxiety, fear that something would go wrong, Padmé would end up pregnant, and the world around them would fall to pieces. He hadn’t known much about female reproduction before marrying her, after all, and he still didn’t exactly understand how it worked—or didn’t, for that matter. Padmé made the decisions there. And yet… and yet if he got a choice, if he could choose to have children or not, what would he pick? Most days he’d say no, it was too dangerous, selfish, even.

But somedays, somedays he’d be sitting in a cockpit, looking out at the vast stars, and feel so unbelievably lonely. And on those days, on those days he wanted children more than anything. He’d lost his mother. He wasn’t allowed to have Padmé. But children, his children, Anakin knew he’d do anything for them. He’d love them like he’d always wanted to be loved, love them a million times more than even that. He’d never had a father, but it wouldn’t matter. He’d make sure his child never felt as lonely, as unloved and set adrift, as he always had.

But wasn’t that selfish too? Having a child just so he always had someone to love, someone nothing could take away from him? It certainly seemed selfish. It was definitely an _attachment_.

“I… I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I think, I think I would like being a father. I know I would love any child we had. But I’m not sure I want to have children. Maybe it’s just because it seems like such a bad idea, for both of us.”

He didn’t miss the way Padmé deflated and it irked him. Hadn’t she just said she didn’t really want children either? Force, he loved her dearly, but there were some days when Anakin didn’t think he could possibly say the right thing.

Before he could press the point though, she sighed and leaned against him. “I know it is, I know. But maybe someday and for now… we have each other. And you have Ahsoka too, who I really wish you’d let visit me more. There aren’t any rules against being friends with Jedi and as much as I love you and Obi-Wan, don’t you think she could use some…feminine influences in her life?”

Anakin was grateful for the turn in the conversation; he was just a tad miffed about his wife’s insinuations. “There are plenty of women in the Jedi Order! Just because Ahsoka knows how to hold her own in a fight that doesn’t mean she needs to learn how to be more feminine!”

Padmé glared at him, and Anakin knew he’d kriffed up. Big time. “Not that you can’t be feminine and hold your own in a fight. Obviously you can be… in fact that was exactly what I was saying?”

“Mhmm,” Padmé rolled her eyes, standing and heading towards their bedroom. “Bring her and Obi-Wan for dinner tomorrow if you haven’t been shipped off planet by then. And this boy too if the Council will let you. What did you say his name was?”

“Luke.”

Padmé paused a moment in the door way then smiled softly, “I always loved the name Luke… Are you coming to bed or what?”

Anakin jumped to his feet a bit too quickly, and his wife chuckled at him. “I did mean bed, you know. No… riskiness.”

He barked a laugh, following his wife into their room. Force, he loved her. He loved her more than life itself. Somehow, with her around, everything would always be okay. Especially now he had Luke too.


	2. The Scavenger and the Moisture Farmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rebellion doesn’t know why Darth Vader is hunting a teenager from Jakku, but they send Luke Skywalker to save her anyway. AU where Rey is born 15 BBY and not 15 ABY.

The Scavenger and the Moisture Farmer

Jakku reminded Darth Vader of Tatooine and he hated it. Sith, of course, were encouraged to hate. It was what gave them strength, what gave them power. But they were supposed to hate people. Ideas. Not _sand_. Sand, the coarse, rough, invasive little thing that Darth Vader had hated long before he _was_ Darth Vader.

His master knew he hated sand too, but unlike the other things Darth Vader hated, the Emperor Palpatine did nothing to encourage this particular distaste. Instead, he ignored it, sending his apprentice wherever he so desired, regardless of if it was a planet covered in sand. Sand which crept through the cracks in Vader’s armor and burned against his useless skin. The same sand which slipped through the cracks in Darth Vader’s heart and stoked the embers of Anakin Skywalker.

_“The search for the pilot that destroyed the Death Star have been fruitless,”_ the Emperor’s sickly voice echoed in Vader’s mind. _“I have a new mission for you, my apprentice.”_

A mission which had led Vader to stalking across the sands of Jakku instead of searching for his son. His son who’d destroyed the Death Star. His son who _lived_.

Vader paused his gate, and not for dramatic effect. He had so few organic parts left, it was rare Vader felt any sensation besides pain. But for the moment, he was hot. Burning hot, and in desperate need of rest. So he indulged himself—sith, unlike jedi, were allowed indulgences—and reached out through the Force. Vader could feel his son’s presence, shining brighter than a thousand stars. _He’s close,_ the Sith realized. _Closer than he has been in months._

Immediately, Vader was torn. His son was close, close enough for Vader to reach out and clasp in his hand. To seize for himself that which was his by right. _His_ son. Once Vader had the boy, they could overthrow his master and rule the galaxy together. That was how it should be. That was Vader’s reward, what he’d bought with years of slavery and death and…. And Padmé. A life for their son, a galaxy he could shape in his own image—that was what he deserved. What he wanted.

It had been so long since Darth Vader had wanted something. The feeling, however, was infinitely familiar, like a petite hand, clasped in his own, and two beautiful lips smiling up at him.

The Force crashed over Vader like the waves of Endor, sending him stumbling back. There was another presence on Jakku, a spot in the Force so bright it was blinding. Worse still, Vader recognized it. It made his bones ache with the crackling of lightning.

_My Master is here, now. This is a test._ He realized. _He wishes to know if I would pick my son over service to him and he can never know I will. Not until we are strong enough to end him._

Vader tried to block out his son’s blinding presence and search the planet for his assignment. The girl had to be there somewhere. What his master wanted with a scavenger from Jakku, Darth Vader could not possibly understand, but with his master so close, he had no choice. He would retrieve her for his master and then, _then_ he’d find his son.

Nothing would come between Darth Vader and his mission. Nothing at all.

SWSWSWSWSWSWS

Jakku reminded Luke of Tatooine, and he loved it. He hadn’t realized how desperately he missed his home until that moment and it _ached_. He didn’t even understand why. His whole life he’d been dying to leave, dying to see the galaxy and do something that mattered. Now he was doing both, but still, he missed his home.

But the home he missed, it wasn’t real. As he sped across the deserts of Jakku, Luke imagined him, Biggs, and Beggar’s Canyon. He smelled Aunt Beru’s bantha stew. He heard Uncle Owen’s grumpy calls. And yet, all of it was fake. They were dead, one and all. Even if Luke could go back to Tatooine—which he couldn’t, not with the war—there would be nothing left for him there. His life was with the Rebellion now. With Leia and Han. And that was enough, or, at least, Luke had always thought it was enough.

Still, as the sand sprayed Luke’s lips until they burned and cracked, he couldn’t hide his nostalgic smile.

_Focus on the present,_ a voice echoed in Luke’s mind. He was fairly certain it was just his subconscious, but for some reason his subconscious seemed to have assumed the voice of Ben Kenobi. _Find the girl—use the Force._

The girl, the teenage girl Darth Vader himself was tracking. Luke didn’t get that one bit, and neither did Rebel High Command for that matter. But all their spies were certain of it, certain that, for the moment, Vader had turned his attention from the Rebel who destroyed the Death Star, from Luke, and to this seemingly insignificant teenager from Jakku. Hopefully the girl would know why she’d become a target, but Luke had to find her before he could ask.

Luke closed his eyes. He was riding a landspeeder across the empty desert, so he wasn’t particularly concerned about crashing, especially because the Force would alert him before he did. Quite honestly, Luke didn’t know much about the Force, but he knew how to use it when flying. He’d been doing that his whole life, Ben had just made Luke realize what he was actually doing.

So Luke trusted the Force to keep him safe, and closed his eyes. The last time he’d been near Vader, Luke had been able to feel it in his very bones. He was a monster, the darkness seeping off him in waves, and Luke could feel it. It made him sick, but he could feel it.

_There,_ Luke realized. _Poodoo, he’s close! How am I supposed to find the girl first if all I can do is track Vader?_

There had to be another way, but Luke didn’t know it. He didn’t know anything and it was all Vader’s fault. When he’d cut down Ben, Luke had lost his only chance to learn how to be a Jedi. How to be like his father. _Another thing Vader took from you._

Anger burned within Luke every time he thought of his father’s murderer, but he tried to push it back. If there was one thing he did know about the Jedi, it was that they were supposed to be good, supposed to be better than everyone else. And anger, hatred, seemed like the wrong way to go about being a Jedi. So Luke would try, try as hard as he could, to be better.

Still, it was hard not to hate the man who’d stolen everything from him, and Luke refused to let Vader get this girl as well. He had to get there first, which meant he had to find her first, not just follow Vader. There was a reason High Command sent him. Sensing people, it was just like flying really. After all, Luke always knew when Leia or Han was outside his door. Maybe he could do the same for this girl.

_But how can I possibly recognize a stranger through the Force?_

Luke was desperate, but he wasn’t hopeless. With everything he’d seen since leaving Tatooine, Luke knew there was always hope. So he closed his eyes tighter—not that that really made any difference at all—and focused harder. He imagined he was reaching out through the Force, but instead of looking for Tie Fighters or blaster bolts, he searched for people. Souls. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, the world exploded.

It was overwhelming, like thousands of voices screaming in his mind. Luke jerked the steering so hard he almost fell out of his speeder, but once he refocused, he realized how beautiful it all was. Every person, every creature, every living thing echoed at the tip of his finger. Vader shown brightest, though brightest was probably not the right word. _Strongest_ , maybe. The waves of darkness threatened to block out everything else. But it didn’t. Luke pushed past Vader’s presence, and searched for something else. Somehow he just knew he’d know when he found the right person.

_There!_ Luke realized, and a grin spread across his face. It hadn’t taken much time at all. As soon as he’d pushed past Vader’s dark presence, Luke had found himself bombarded by her presence. She seemed to shout into the Force, announcing herself to the galaxy.

“I’ve found her,” Luke spoke into his com. Han and Chewie were waiting for him back at the Falcon, but with how close Vader was to her, Luke knew they’d need to make a quick exit. “I’ll transmit my coordinates as soon as I arrive. It looks like it’s the middle of nowhere, so you should meet us there. Be careful, though, Vader’s already on the ground.”

Han replied with a few words in Huttese Uncle Owen would have spanked Luke for using. “Of course he is. I hope this girl’s cute; she better be to be worth it.”

After six months, Luke knew Han well enough to know the ex-smuggler didn’t actually mean it. He had as golden a heart as any of them. Still, their banter relaxed Luke. “Han, they said she was fifteen.”

“They said she was _probably_ fifteen,” Han’s smirk was clear. “But a little young for the both of us. Fine, maybe she’s _rich_ then.”

Luke doubted it. She was currently alone in the middle of the desert of Jakku. Unless she had some secret palace out there, she was probably poor.

“Come on, she’s gotta be rich! Why else would Vader want her?”

“Han, I think she’s like me,” Luke admitted, pressing his speeder forward even as he did. Like him. Another Jedi, or a child of a Jedi, maybe. (Though he’d heard strange stories the past few months, stories that made Luke wonder if his birth was even legal.) But whoever she was, wherever she came from, they were alike. Luke didn’t realize how alone he’d felt until he realized he _wasn’t._

“Oh great, another annoying kid from a desert planet. Exactly what we need Chewie.”

Luke grinned, kicking the speeder well past its maximum speed, trusting the Force to keep it together. He wouldn’t need it once he found the girl; it just needed to get him that far.

“No, I think she’s a jedi!”

SWSWSWSW

Jakku was all Rey had ever known, and she was okay with that. She didn’t like it. She didn’t hate it. It just was. Until her parents came back, Jakku was all she had, and life was too hard to waste time moaning about it.

She jumped off the wall, shifting her body mid-flight to avoid being impaled by a loose beam. It felt good to soar, to just be free for a moment, but then her target was close, and Rey reached out, fingers inches from the tracking system that would be at least ten portions. It was so close, she could practically taste the hard, flavorless bread. All she had to do was stretch out an inch further…

Rey toppled to the ground, rolling to soften her landing, but still landing splayed on her back. Everything ached, but her stomach growled, so Rey crawled back to her feet and began to climb once more. She just had to jump a little further this time. Just because no one had managed to reach the valuable part in decades, that didn’t mean Rey would never get it. It just meant they weren’t as determined.

_Desperate,_ Rey admitted, leaping once more. _Call things what they are, you’re just desperate._

Besides for this last, unreachable part, she’d already stripped the Separatist cruiser to the bones. No, other scavengers had stripped it to the bones long before Rey got there. She’d just been ripping out the very bones and trying to sell them. Plutt couldn’t rip her off over a tracking system though. Rey knew just how valuable that was and she’d accept nothing less than ten.

She crashed to the ground once more, pain shooting through her arm. _Maybe even fifteen._

Rey tried to get up, but her elbow buckled, and she fell back over. _Kriff._ She couldn’t afford to have a broken arm. If she didn’t bring something to Plutt she wouldn’t be eating and there was nothing else to bring. So Rey forced herself back up, blinked away the dark spots which danced across her vision, and began her climb again. This time she would get it.

Rey soared, flying across the ship’s cavern, grabbing onto the pole and swinging off of it. She’d make it this time, she was certain of it, and then she could take a week off and rest her arm. Rest every aching muscle in her body. Just an inch more.

Her fingers brushed along the edge of the tracker, and then Rey started to slip. A scream tore through her, frustration and pain bubbling over into rage, and just as she slipped, the little device tore from the wall, dropping along with Rey. Once again she landed hard, but the knowledge of her prize was the softest pillow Rey could imagine.

(Not that Rey, who’d never had a pillow in her life, could imagine a particularly soft one.)

Rey could have stayed there forever, the little box curled in her fingers. She breathed in and out, letting the sandy air sooth her burning lungs. The pain in her limbs and the joy in her heart tempted her to stay there unmoved forever. Maybe she would have, but suddenly Rey felt a prickling of the hairs upon her neck. She sat up quickly and could hear the distant humming of a speeder. It was getting closer though and she knew she had to move. There was nothing left in this wreck worth getting in a fight over but she wasn’t about to let anyone take her prize. Best just to leave while she still could.

By the time she’d made it out of the wreck, though, the newcomer was close enough Rey could see them—him. She paused, frowning. Rey knew all the scavengers around, knew all the people in Niima Outpost and this man—if he could even be called a man—wasn’t someone she’d ever seen before. She doubted he even belonged on Jakku.

And yet….And yet when Rey set eyes on him, she couldn’t help but feel like she knew him. It was like looking in a dirty water trout, a mirror image and yet something else entirely. But something _right_ too. Something definitely right.

He was older than her, nineteen, twenty, it was hard to tell. The next youngest person Rey knew on Jakku was twenty-three by his own accounts, and twenty-five according to everyone else. This man was definitely younger than that, but older than her, so twenty seemed a safe bet. His round face and bright eyes made him look even younger though. There was a softness to him, an innocence, one Rey doubted she had ever had in her life.

Everything Rey knew told her to leave with her scraps and head to Plutt, but her feet didn’t move. Instead, she let him pull right up to her, his landspeeder— _so new!—_ humming softly in her ear. The boy smiled brightly at her, then looked nervously over his shoulder. “There’s no time to explain, you need to come with me.”

No time or not, Rey wasn’t an idiot. It didn’t matter how nice and cute the guy was, when a random older man told a teenage girl to get on the back of her speeder, she said no. Then she hit him with her staff a few times to make sure he got the message. Luckily for this boy, she’d already loaded her staff into her speeder.

Still, her fists did plenty well, “I’m not crazy! Who even are you?”

The man looked back into the distance and Rey noticed the way his hand fingered something by his hip. She took a step back instinctively, but it wasn’t a blaster. The shape was all wrong, like the handle to a broken hammer.

“I’m Luke Skywalker! I’m here to rescue you!”

The man, Luke, sounded so certain about it, but Rey could only laugh. Rescue her, from what? With the tracker in her pocket Rey was having a great day. What was there to save her from?

_Maybe he’s here to save you from Jakku,_ the hopeful voice within her chimed. _Maybe your parents sent him!_

Rey didn’t think so. She had no way of knowing, of course, because she couldn’t really even remember her parents but her instincts told her that her parents hadn’t sent him. Whatever brought him to Jakku, to her, it wasn’t her family. And if it wasn’t her family, then she couldn’t let him save her. She couldn’t leave or else she might not be there if— _when_ —they returned. Still…

“Rescue me from what?”

Before Luke could answer, Rey noticed something in the distance. It looked like a transport, like an Imperial transport. There weren’t many Imperials on Jakku—any, actually. Still, she’d seen a stolen transport a few years back, and it had definitely looked the same. A chill crept up Rey’s spine, despite the scorching heat of the desert. The Empire on Jakku. The Empire on Jakku and a strange man coming to ‘rescue her.’

Luke swore in what Rey thought was Huttese. Then he reached out her hand, “Please, I can’t explain, but you have to trust me. Darth Vader himself is after you and trust me, you don’t want him to get you. I can keep you safe, I promise. Just… trust me.”

Rey couldn’t explain it, but she did. She’d never had someone to trust before, but Rey knew, she knew she trusted Luke. And it scared her. Why would she trust a stranger? Why would she even believe him? For all Rey knew, he was a Rebel. Actually, it seemed quite likely that he was a Rebel and had led the Empire to Jakku. Maybe he just wanted to use Rey as a human shield. Not that the Empire seemed to care about things like that, but all Rey knew were stories meant to scare her, so maybe they did. She didn’t know anything about the Empire. She knew even less about Luke,

And yet, she trusted him.

_Trust is for fools, Rey, that’s what everyone says._ And they did. Any time an adult decided to give Rey the time of day it was because they’d decided to pass on some of their sage wisdom: _trust no one, watch your own back, don’t expect nothing from no one._ Everyone said it, so it had to be true, even if it didn’t feel true to Rey. She’d certainly never had anything to disprove it, not on Jakku.

And yet she hoped. And she believed. And despite everything, Rey trusted. She couldn’t explain it, but maybe she didn’t need to. Rey trusted Luke, and maybe that was enough.

Maybe.

She hesitated one moment longer, and that was the time it took for the transport to grind to a halt. Luke made a gasping, screaming noise and grabbed the broken-hammer on his belt. The metal seemed to glisten in the sunlight and then, suddenly, a blue light sprung from it. Rey’s heart clenched as she stared at the colorful beam. She’d never seen anything like it in her life but a word sprung into her mind unbidden, a word she’d only ever heard in legends—lightsaber.

“Get behind me,” Luke ordered as a dozen stormtroopers flooded out of the transport and began shooting. Rey stopped thinking and just ducked, climbing into the speeder with Luke. It looked like she needed saving after all or maybe she’d just decided to trust trust.

Luke wasn’t in any shape to pilot though. He’d stood up in the speeder, balancing precariously on the seats as he spun the saber, deflecting the blaster beams as they approached. Two troopers were already down, and Rey could only gape. How could anyone reflect blasters with such precision? It was incredible!

“Cease fire! We need them alive,” a deep voice suddenly called over the shooting. Beside Rey, Luke stiffened. The blood seemed to rush from his face, but he gripped the saber tighter. Luke didn’t even seem to nice the sudden opportunity for escape; he was far too focused on the dark figure which had given the order.

He was a droid, Rey was almost certain of it. He looked vaguely human, but Rey had never seen a human who was so tall, and the mask and armor seemed to have been sewn into his very skin. At best, then, he was an android.

Regardless of what he was, Rey knew he was evil. It wasn’t the frightening persona, not even the billowing cape, Rey just knew. She could feel it in the core of her being. Everything about him was _wrong_.. It felt almost familiar, in a strange way, but nevertheless Rey hated it. All she wanted was to get away from it.

Good thing she was in a speeder.

“Move!” she ordered Luke, and when he didn’t move, just continued to stare at the dark figure, Rey pushed him aside and climbed into the pilot seat. She reeved the engine and took off, desperate to get as far away from the overwhelming darkness as possible. Luke toppled forward as the speeder moved, but Rey grabbed him, keeping him from falling out.

“Do you even know how to fly?”

“Of course I know how to fly!” Rey was insulted he even had to ask. “Now do you want to get out of here or not?”

Somehow, Rey knew there was a part of Luke which didn’t want to get out of there. She could sense him tensing, considering what would happen if he jumped from the speeder and charged the dark man. But in the end, he resisted the temptation. Or maybe he was just left no choice. The stormtroopers must have decided that their attempt to flee negated the order to hold their fire, because they began shooting once more, chasing after their speeder on foot. Rey laughed at them, a wild, maniacal laugh which earned her a frightened look from Luke. Still, it was funny. Did these troopers honestly think they could keep up with her? Rey was far too good a pilot for that. She ducked, swerved, and was quickly out of range of her blasters.

“Where am I taking us?” she howled over the wind, enjoying the feeling of flying. Her own speeder was so old, so slow. This was wonderful. “We can lay low at my place?”

“My friend has a ship. He shouldn’t be…”

The speeder slammed to a halt and they both jerked forward. Panic flared within Rey. She pressed harder on the accelerator, desperate to get anything out of the ship she could. But there was nothing. The engines were running full capacity, the propulsors working fine; they simply weren’t moving.

“Vader,” Luke’s voice trembled. Rey didn’t understand what he meant, but then she noticed the dark figure was standing still, arm raised high. She gulped. He’d stopped them. Somehow he’d stopped their ship without even touching them. It was like… like he was controlling the speeder with just his mind!

“That’s not possible,” Rey whispered. It was a stupid thing to say though, because clearly it was possible. It was happening right before her eyes. It was happening to her. And Rey had no idea what to do.

The speeder jerked, but it didn’t go forward. Instead, it started to drift backwards, towards the troopers, towards this ‘Vader’. The name sounded familiar to her, like someone from one of her stories, but Rey couldn’t place it and it didn’t seem like a good time to ask. Escaping seemed a fair bit more important.

“Jump!” she told Luke, taking her own advice and bailing. For all the soft sand that surrounded her, Rey’s landing was rough. She landed right on her injured arm, but didn’t take the time to feel the burning pain. Luke had jumped from the speeder with her, but now that they were free, this Vader had turned their ship into a weapon. Luke ducked just in time to avoid being thrown into it; Rey had no such luck.

She went flying backwards, back towards Vader and the troopers. She rolled as she landed, stood, and immediately vomited. She couldn’t breath. She couldn’t think. Panic overwhelmed her senses. In the distance, Rey could hear Luke shouting for her. _He doesn’t even know my name,_ she idley realized, as if that was their biggest problem at the moment. 

Two troopers roughly grabbed Rey dragging her roughly towards their leader. In that moment, she knew for certain her arm was broken. The pain which shot through her was enough to make her sick, and she vomited again. This proved to be her salvation. As she puked on them, the two troopers were so disgusted that they immediately let go, shouting curses at her all the way.

Rey felt horrific and a part of her just wanted to collapse and let them drag her away. But she couldn’t give up. She could sense Luke dashing towards her, lightsaber blaring. The sound of blaster fire surrounded her, and the humming of another blade. Her vision steadied, and Rey was greeted by the terrifying sight of another lightsaber, a crimson blade spreading out from Vader’s hand. The monster exhibited no sign of his lumbering form as he charged Luke, and Rey realized he wasn’t misshapen and mechanical. He was living, breathing, and perfect for death.

She didn’t think. She couldn’t have done it if she’d tried. Rey just acted, relying on instinct and screaming in her mind. She reached out her arm just as Vader had and, suddenly, the crimson blade tore from his hand and into Rey’s.

The metal grip was cool against her palm, the blade frighteningly light. For a moment, Rey just held the weapon, unsure what to do with it, unsure how she’d even gotten it. But then her trooper guards seemed to regain their senses and began to shoot, and, once more, Rey just acted. She swung the blade across, deflecting their blasts and chopping their blasters in two in one smooth stroke. She was so surprised, she dropped the saber, its light going dead as it landed in the blistering sand.

Immediately, Rey reached down to grab it again, blushing all the way. No one else moved. Luke stared at her, eyes wide and… fearful. Rey’s heart sunk. Luke, hopeful, awkward Luke, was terrified of her. She’d screwed up, big time, and she didn’t even know how.

But Rey couldn’t even focus on her ‘rescuer’. The troopers seemed to have picked their lives over their jobs and scrambled back as fast as they could. Only Vader approached, slowly stepping towards her. She couldn’t see his face, but Rey knew he was surprised to. And, perhaps, even more terrified than Luke was.

“Master?” he tentatively asked.

Rey didn’t have a clue what he meant, but decided that was her cue to get the Corellian-hell out of there. “Get to the speeder!”

Luke didn’t seem to process her words, so Rey just grabbed his hand and pulled him along with her. The troopers began to shoot once more, but Luke held them off as Rey jumped into the cockpit. A few moments later, they were well out of range.

And this time Vader made no move to stop them.

Luke’s mind was still spinning when they reached the Falcon. Once he’d gotten the girl, whose name he really needed to learn, aboard, they’d immediately found themselves in a dogfight. Then it was just blasting, and flying, and trying not to die. The girl turned out to be quite helpful in that regards. Not only could she shoot, she knew ships, and when their hyperdrive got shot out, she fixed it much faster than even Luke could have. Faster than Han could have, and he knew the Falcon better than he knew himself.

It wasn’t until they’d jumped into hyperspace, therefore, that Luke really had any opportunity to process what in the Sith hells he’d just witnessed, or the wild teenager he’d been sent to save. And even then, Luke didn’t get a chance, because as soon as they were out of danger, the girl started panicking. She’d been perfectly calm the whole time they were about to die, but the moment she realized they were in hyperspace, she seemed to lose all the color to her face.

“We need to go back!” she hissed, bolting into the cockpit. If Chewie wasn’t there, she might have very well wrestled control of the ship. The furry wookie managed to hold her back, but just barely. “No! I need to get back to Jakku! If my parents get back and find me gone…”

Right. Parents. Quite honestly, Luke hadn’t even considered that this girl might have parents. Basically everyone he knew was an orphan or good-as. The idea of someone actually having loving parents who would be worried about their teenage daughter… hadn’t crossed Luke’s mind.

He wondered if it had even crossed the mind of Alliance High Command. Probably not, which said something frightening about the demographics of the rebellion itself.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Han howled, and Chewie stood, blocking the girl from doing anything nutty. “Calm down. Look, kid, you can’t go back there. I don’t know if you noticed, but that was _Darth Vader_ chasing you. You go back, you die.”

She still looked ready to fight Chewie and take control of the ship, so Luke added, “Once you’re safe I’ll go back and get your parents. We can relocate you all somewhere.”

Luke thought that was a great solution. From the way the girl clenched her fists and shook her head, she did not, “You don’t understand. I have to go back to Jakku myself. My parents aren’t there right now, so I need to be there when they get back.”

Luke frowned. There was something about this that just felt wrong. He knew instinctively that there was something obvious he was missing, something the girl wasn’t saying and yet which was nevertheless obvious. He just couldn’t pin what. “I can be there when they get back and bring them to you. When are they coming back?”

The girl opened her mouth, then shut it. Finally, a blush to her cheeks, she admitted, “I don’t know, but that’s why I have to be there. They need to be able to find me when they come; I can’t tell you how to find them.”

Luke noticed that Han, who’d been playing with the controls, suddenly went still. _That’s odd,_ he thought, but continued trying to sooth the girl. He could feel her panic coming off her in waves, and after what she’d done against Vader, Luke was frightened of what she might do accidentally. Clearly she had no more control over the Force than Luke did himself.

“Well you’re not that old, so they can’t be gone too long, right? So I can see if we can just leave them a message and give them a way to contact us when they return. Or maybe we can just pick them up? Where did they go?”

The girl bit her lip, rolling it back and forth with her teeth. Finally, she answered, “I… I don’t know. They just told me they’d be back and to wait for them. So I have to go back to Jakku or I’ll never see them again.”

Frustration brimmed within Luke. He was trying his hardest to work with this girl, but she was honestly just being unreasonable. Had she missed the whole hunted-by-Darth-Vader thing? Did she honestly think she could go back to Jakku and just be fine?

“I’m sorry, but if you go back then the Empire is gonna get you, and you won’t be there when you parents return anyway.”

The girl looked ready to scream, but instead she just hissed, “I can handle the Empire. You’re the one kidnapping me! I want to go back to Jakku so my parents…”

“How many years has it been?” Han interjected without even turning to look.

Luke didn’t understand what his friend meant. The girl seemed to, but nevertheless she stammered, “I don’t…”

“How many years has it been since they promised to come back, Kid? Five? Ten? Do you even remember them?”

“Han what are you talking about?” Luke asked, and yet, yet the girl didn’t deny it. She looked furious, and miserable, and dangerous, even, but not nearly as confused as Luke felt.

“How old were you, kid?”

“Five, alright?” She hissed slumping down against the wall. Luke’s heart broke for her. Her parent’s had been gone five years? But then she continued, and it was only worse.

“Or maybe I was four. I don’t know. We don’t really count those things on Jakku. But I know they’re coming back. They promised. So I need to go back. I’ve already been gone too long.”

Han finally spun around, staring the girl in the eye. Luke knew his friend well enough to see the sympathy there, but Han still sounded cold, very cold, when he told her, “They’re not coming back, Kid, and we both know it. They’re dead—if you’re lucky. The other option is they sold you for drinking money and just didn’t care. One way or another, if they didn’t come back for you all these years, they’re not coming back now. You even know that. You just don’t want to admit it.”

The girl jumped to her feet, leered at Han, then stormed from the cockpit. Luke stood blinking for a moment, unsure what had just happened. Finally he whispered, “What’s gotten into you? You didn’t have to say it like that.”

Now that she was gone, Han’s gaze had dropped its cold veneer. All Luke could see was a vulnerable man and he realized, not for the first time, how little he really knew about Han’s youth. Luke knew Han had been part of the Empire for a short time, but that was about it. Before that… Luke really didn’t know. He could guess though.

“How many years did you spend dreaming your father would come for you, Luke? What good did it ever do you? I’ve known a hundred kids just like her, too kriffing convinced their parents will come back to save them that they never save themselves. Better she accept the truth now than have her try running back to Jakku on us.”

Han was right. Anxiety still nipped at Luke’s stomach, though. The girl hadn’t even bothered to fight Han, which meant she probably knew he was right, but Luke was painfully aware of her through the Force. She was miserable, like an infinite ocean of pain and loneliness. It made Luke want to sob; he could hardly comprehend how she was outwardly holding herself together.

“Sometimes people need to live on dreams, Han. I only learned how to pilot because I wanted to impress my father when he came back,” Luke admitted with a sigh.

Han blinked, clearly surprised, but shrugged and turned back around. “Yeah, whatever. I don’t mind being the bad guy so long as it keeps her from getting us all killed.”

_Once we’re back at base, I’m going to sit Han down and ask him about his history._ Luke decided. For the moment though, he just followed the girl out of the cockpit. Han was right about one thing; she needed to understand why she couldn’t go back to Jakku.

SWSWSW

Luke found the girl talking to R2, which warmed her to him instantly. Not that he’d been against her before, per say, but he was definitely weary. How could he not be? A part of him, most of him, wanted to embrace the girl. Finally! Someone like him. Someone who could hear the shouting of the Universe even in a silent forest.

But that she’d done on Jakku… that was nothing Luke had ever seen before. And quite frankly, it frightened him. He didn’t know if he was scared of her power, or scared of how jealous it made him. One way or another, Luke knew he needed to get over it. Fear led you nowhere; everyone knew that. And besides, she was hardly more than a child…

“I’m Luke, by the way… I can’t remember if I ever introduced myself,” he awkwardly told her.

The girl didn’t look up, just patted R2 on the head. The droid made an excited whirling, and then, finally, the girl turned, a blush across her cheeks as she admitted, “You did… Introduce yourself I mean. Luke Skywalker, of the rebellion.”

Silence hung over them for a long moment and the girl still didn’t give her name. Luke was beginning to wonder if she had something to hide, but then her dark eyes went wide, and she jumped to her feet. “Oh! I’m Rey. Sorry, I completely forgot.”

Luke wasn’t sure if she meant she’d forgotten to introduce herself, or if she’d forgotten her name. But since the latter seemed fairly ridiculous, he decided it was probably the former. Though she still hadn’t given him any sort of a last name, and Luke had never met a human who didn’t have one. He almost pressed, but considering the conversation she’d just had with Han, she might not even know her last name. It was a sobering thought, and once more opened Luke to the waves of grief flooding off her.

At least it gave him something to talk about. “Han isn’t normally like this, I promise. I think he’s just afraid you’ll do something rash and get us all killed.”

She bit her lip, but then smiled. There was a hint of teasing in her tone, but Luke was fairly certain she meant it when Rey admitted, “I’m glad I look like the kind of person who would do something rash. But then, you saw me back on Jakku.”

Luke was suddenly aware of the lightsaber which rested next to her leg. She’d managed to turn it off, at least, but Luke could still see the crimson blade. He could see it cutting through Ben, his would-be mentor disappearing into nothing. _Was this the blade that killed my father?_

Luke knew it probably was. Instantly, he had the overwhelming desire to chuck it into a garbage disposal, and he knew how horrible those were. But logic won out. If Rey was like him, then she needed a lightsaber. Luke didn’t know much about being a Jedi, but he knew every Jedi needed a lightsaber. Maybe the blade that had brought so much death could bring something good in the future.

_Besides,_ he thought to himself, _maybe with a sparring partner you can actually learn how to use it._

Rey caught him looking at the saber and picked it up. She weighed it carefully, then flicked it on. The blade burned bright and R2 immediately started whirling and spinning. Luke was beginning to understand binary, but not nearly as well as Rey must have. She quickly shut the blade and reached out to the droid. “What do you mean ‘Sith’?”

Luke’s blood ran cold. He’d heard the word before, mostly from the oldest members of the rebellion, but Leia was the one who’d really explained it to him. _“My father used to tell me stories of the Jedi and the Sith whenever I misbehaved. I just thought they were scary, but maybe, maybe they were his warning.”_

“The Sith are… they’re like the anti-Jedi. They get their power from the Dark Side of the Force and they’re… well they’re evil. Darth Vader is a Sith and you saw _him_.”

Rey nodded, but was then quiet for a moment. She ran a finger along the saber, not turning it on, but not laying it down either. Finally, she admitted, “There aren’t a lot of kids on Jakku… There isn’t a lot of _anything_. But when I was younger the other scavengers would tell me stories of the Clone Wars. I always thought the Jedi were just a story, a legend to explain why the Separatists lost. But that creature… Vader… How…? I know I haven’t seen a lot but…”

Luke wasn’t entirely sure what she was trying to ask, but he could feel her confusion. It was so strange. Ever since he’d been told that Jedi were supposed to feel emotions, Luke had been trying. He even thought he was getting good at it, especially with those he knew best. But with Rey, well Luke didn’t need to know her. Her emotions sung through the Force. They were nearly overwhelming.

_Maybe it’s because she’s like me, but does that mean she can feel me too?_

Luke hoped not. Rey was so conflicted, so distressed, as it was, she didn’t need to feel Luke’s terror as well. Still, he focused on calming himself down, reaching out to grab Rey’s arm and reassure her.

That was a bad decision. The moment he touched her Rey cursed in pain, and Luke realized the awkward angle she’d been holding her arm at the whole time. And to think, he’d just assumed she was left handed!

“You’re hurt! Why didn’t you say something?”

She flushed as deep a red as her stolen lightsaber, and pulled away from him. “I’m fine. It’s not even broken.”

_Lie,_ Luke decided. “I’m no medic, but let me look at it. We probably have pain pills around here somewhere at least.”

“Pain pills?” Rey furrowed her brows, clearly bewildered. “Why would you want to give someone a pill to cause pain?”

It would have been funny, but Luke understood the deeper message. He’d been poor on Tatooine. He’d been naïve. But compared to Rey, compared to a girl who knew a handful of sentient beings and lived all alone, he was a downright expert on life. He was almost looking forward to seeing her experience the galaxy.

_I bet she’s never seen rain,_ he smirked.

Rey noticed his smile and scowled, “You’re laughing at me!”

“I’m not!” He really wasn’t, but she clearly didn’t believe him. “Just let me look at your arm, please? Otherwise I’ll have to get Chewie back here to hold you down.”

“Wookies are meant for pulling off arms, not healing them,” Rey muttered, but she didn’t pull away when Luke reached out to her. She stiffened as he touched it, the pain radiating off of her.

Despite her insistence, Luke knew it was broken. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been that bad had she gotten immediate help with it, but their little fight with Vader—and whatever she’d done with his lightsaber—had jostled the bone so it bulged against the skin. Luke couldn’t imagine how painful it must have been. He also couldn’t imagine how he was supposed to fix it.

_I wish I could help you, Rey, I really do._

Once when he was little, Luke had cut into a bag of salt just for the fun of it. At first, the grains had seeped out slowly, barely noticeable against the dirty floor. But then, more came out, and more after it, tearing at the little hole until Luke couldn’t possibly hold it together, and the whole bag was on the floor.

That was like it felt like. At first, Luke wasn’t even sure what he was doing. He could feel something trickling out of his body, but then, it was too much, and he fell over the precipice, his whole soul pouring out into her broken arm. Until, suddenly, a voice in Luke’s head shouted _STOP!_

_SWSWSW_

Rey jerked away from him, and her arm didn’t bother her at all. “What did you just do?”

Luke gapped, mouth moving but no words coming out. Still, Rey didn’t need an explanation. She knew what he’d done. She could feel it. He’d healed her. Somehow, Rey didn’t have a clue how, but somehow he’d actually healed her arm. It didn’t hurt at all and it was terrifying. She’d spent the entire day scavenging. Forget the not-broken bone, she should have at least been sore. But she wasn’t. Without the usual aching, it was almost like Rey didn’t have any body at all. Yet it was still there, still there, just… healed.

It was terrifying. Rey knew she was ignorant but she wasn’t stupid. She knew there was a way things were supposed to work. When you spent a whole day falling onto a hard ship, you hurt. You broke. You didn’t feel better than you had in years because some guy had suddenly touched you.

The weirdest bit, though, was that it didn’t feel _wrong_. It felt… it felt good. Like the faint hint of warmth Rey knew whenever she imagined her parents’ faces. It was love; Rey knew that. But Luke was a stranger, a complete stranger, and he didn’t love her. Still, the feeling was there. It didn’t even fade as Luke pulled away. If anything, Rey felt it stronger the further away from her Luke drifted.

“I don’t know how I did that,” Luke finally admitted, and Rey’s heart soared. Not because Luke was somehow in love with her—Rey wasn’t yet sure if she wanted that, though it might be nice. No, Rey was just glad Luke was confused too, that she wasn’t alone. What she’d done with the lightsaber, it terrified her. But if Luke could do things too, do things without even trying to, well then… then they’d both be okay. They could figure it out together.

_But not if you go back to Jakku,_ a voice echoed in her mind. _And you know you have to. If your parents come back…_

But their jerk-pilot’s voice sung to her as well, _“They’re not coming back now. You even know that. You just don’t want to admit it.”_

“Darth Vader works for the Empire?” Rey tentatively asked, not ready to decide yet. For the moment, she needed to focus on the moment. “Why is he after me?”

A shadow of darkness crossed over Luke’s face, the first hint of darkness Rey had even seen from him. It was hard to believe there even was darkness in the bright-eyed man, but his voice trembled, “Darth Vader is the Emperor’s right hand man. He’s made it his mission to destroy the Jedi. He… he killed my father and my teacher. He’s been hunting me ever since Yavin; he’ll do the same to you now.”

Rey took a deep breath. Hunted, for a power she hadn’t even know she had. It almost made her sound important, which was the one thing Rey knew she wasn’t. She was nobody, from a line of nobodies. That was what Rey knew.

But she did have power, Rey couldn’t deny that. She picked back up the blade, the _lightsaber_ , she’d stolen from Darth Vader himself. If the man really was that dangerous, and now that Rey thought about it, he’d always sounded dangerous in stories, then she shouldn’t have made it off Jakku alive. She certainly shouldn’t have won.

“Do you know why he called me ‘master’?”

Luke mustn’t have even heard it, because his blue eyes widened as he shook his head. “No idea. My teacher, Obi-Wan, was his master once. Maybe you resemble him.” Luke paused for a second, then, excited, suggested, “Maybe you’re related to him!”

“I’m not related to a Jedi,” Rey told him, and she knew as soon as she’d said it, that that was true. It was such a strange feeling, knowing something was true. Rey couldn’t decide if she liked it or not. She doubted she had much of a choice though. She had these powers, and she’d be hunted for these powers, whether she wanted them or not.

“Can you teach me? Teach me how to use the… the Force?” Rey wasn’t even sure she believed in the Force, or even what it was, but Luke seemed to know. He seemed to know more, at least, which was all that really mattered.

And yet, Luke hesitated. “I don’t… I don’t really know how to use it myself. But maybe we can learn together. I think…This is going to sound crazy, but I think we’re meant to learn together. We’re meant to be a team.”

It did sound crazy; Rey knew nothing about Luke, not really. And yet, there was a singing in her bones that just felt right. Luke Skywalker and Rey…Something. A team.

She rolled the saber in her hand, then lit it. “Well then, what are we waiting for? Next time we see Vader, we’ll be ready.”


	3. The Wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Padme Amidala is quite familiar with bad choices.

Padmé Amidala was quite familiar with bad choices.

First, she’d devoted her whole childhood to serving others. A queen at fourteen, how magnificent! But then she’d saved her planet, reconciled the Naboo with the Gungans for the first time ever, and been promptly arrested by the Senate.

Apparently, it was illegal for Republic planets to create an army without Senatorial approval. Padmé had been saved from prison by now-Chancellor Palpatine’s aid, but she’d been forbidden from ever holding office in the Republic again.

So when the Separatists offered her a position in their ranks, when they promised Naboo sovereignty, promised them _the right to defend themselves_ … Well, then Padmé had made the second worst decision of her life. She’d said _yes_.

But even leading her people onto the loosing side of a bitter war wasn’t the worst decision Padmé Amidala had ever made. No, that was reserved for the night she’d spent with the Jedi sent to topple Naboo’s Separatist Queen. Little Ani, not so little anymore. Padmé had no idea what had come over her—what had come over _him_ —but she would never really regret it. It had saved her people; Anakin’s ‘unexpected defeat’ had made the Republic leave Naboo alone.

And, more important than even that, it had given Padmé her angels, and she would never, ever, trade Luke and Leia. Not for herself. Not even for Naboo.

Which was why, when Emperor Palpatine himself summoned her to Coruscant—Imperial Center—she made one more bad decision, and obeyed.

* * *

The Imperial Palace was just the old Jedi Temple. Padmé had never had the chance to visit it, not during her brief trip—or her imprisonment—on Coruscant. Still, the massive building was recognizable from holos, even with the Emperor’s alterations. Tall spires rose high into the air, the imperial cog draped from every edge, and the sheer size was overwhelming. Padmé could feel in her very bones the magnitude of it, and she wasn’t even Force Sensitive.

_Not like Ani._

In all honesty, it was rare that Padmé thought of the twins’ father. She’d never shared his identity with anyone. As a Separatist—and then as a loyal subject of the Empire—the Jedi had always been _the enemy_. She’d never even told her family. Only Captain Typho had known, when he’d agreed to be listed as the twins’ father. But he’d been dead for years, so the secret was for Padmé, and Padmé alone.

Most of the time, since she was so used to pretending Typho really was their father, Padmé almost forgot herself. But staring at the Jedi temple, that was impossible. She felt an ache in her bones, not for what was, but for what might have been. If the Universe—or the Senate—had just been a little less cruel, Padmé might have known the Jedi temple intricately. She might have known Anakin intricately.

Now, all Padmé knew of the temple was that Anakin had died there. And so, as she looked upon it, she felt its weight all the more keenly.

An aide—Padmé had caught neither her name nor her title—led her through the winding halls. Admittedly, the palace was beautiful. Much of the art was Naboo in origin, bright lights and crisp lines. There were hints of a thousand other cultures, though. All human, of course, but everything from Corellian stained-glass stars to a intricately carved japor snippet. The latter made Padmé’s heart clench. She’d given hers to Leia on her ninth birthday. ‘It was a gift from Anakin Skywalker, the boy who saved Naboo,’ Padmé had admitted. She’d said nothing else.

Finally, they came to a pair of large, imposing doors. Red guards stood at attention on either side, and dozens of courtiers mingled about, chatting quietly, pressing desperately at the door for access. Padmé hung back. She didn’t know any of these people, and frankly, she didn’t want to. All she wanted was to go home to her children.

The door peaked open, and a man appeared. A dozen necks stretched towards him, desperate for a look into the throne room. He ignored them all, just looked down at the datapad in his hand, and called out, “His Imperial Majesty will now welcome Her Highness, Lady Padmé Amidala of Naboo.”

Chatter broke through the crowd, but Padmé ignored them. Head high, she walked straight through the mess of people, focused only on maintaining her calm. She’d been a queen; she could handle an audience with a man she’d known as a child. Even if he was now the Emperor of the Galaxy.

Padmé had barely slipped through the doors before they were slammed shut behind her. For a moment, she hesitated, looking back at the imposing weight of the doors. There was no way she’d be able to open them herself and flee. Especially not with the dozen guards who lined the room, silent and still.

The only way for Padmé to go was forward.

The Emperor was obscured by his robe, as he always was, these days. Padmé, like the rest of the galaxy, did not know the details of the injuries Palpatine had suffered at the hands of the Jedi, but she knew he was horribly disformed. None of the kindly old man she’d known as a child remained.

She curtsied deeply at the edge of his throne, bowing her head, “Your Majesty.”

“Padmé, my dear, rise.” His voice was sickeningly sweet. Had it always been that way? Padmé didn’t know. One of them had certainly changed, but she highly suspected it was her. “I am so glad to see you looking well, and I must thank you for coming on such short notice. It was my sincere hope to visit you on our beloved Naboo, but you more than many know the pressures of the throne.”

Yes, Padmé did. She’d spent years as a queen, both as a child and during the Clone Wars. It was only the birth of the twins which had seen her finally retire. Naboo custom dictated only women without children could rule; children often compromised one’s morals.

Padmé had despised the rule, up until the moment she’d given birth. Then, she’d understood. She would have let Naboo burn for them, and _oh,_ how it frightened her.

“Of course, Your Majesty. I am yours to command.”

That made him smile. Padmé could just see the edge of his teeth from beneath the cloak. “I would like to think, these long years we’ve known each other, that ours is a relationship of friendship, not obedience. I helped you when the Senate so treacherously turned, did I not? And in light of such a betrayal, your Separatist leanings were only reasonable. How could I not ensure you—and my homeworld—were given full dignities a my subjects? Yes, my dear Padmé, I have long seen you almost like a daughter, a daughter from whom I must keep my distance, for my own safety.”

That shocked Padmé. She’d never, ever gotten such an impression from him before. Admittedly, she was grateful for his continued help. Whenever she’d made a bad choice, he had been there to save her. But he’d certainly never guided her in advance of making the bad choice. Padmé had a father, and she had a daughter. Whatever she and Palpatine shared, it was nothing like that.

Still, she offered him a smile, “Truly, you have been too kind to me.”

The appropriate thing to say would be, of course, that Padmé was in his debt. She was, in every way. Yet, she’d learned all-too-quick among the Separatists how dangerous such a statement could be. So he held it back, even as they both knew it was true.

Palpatine’s smile widened. “Yes, well, it is because I regard you as a daughter, because of the trust I have place in you, that I was so horribly disappointed to hear of your betrayal.”

Padmé’s throat suddenly felt tight. “I don’t… Your Majesty I don’t…”

“Are you aware, my dear, that when Naboo children undergo their first career aptitude tests, midi-chlorian counts are also done. No, I expect you are not, or you would never have permitted it for your own, dear children. After all, you ensured they were not tested at birth, as is standard.”

Her throat had to be completely closed, because the room almost seemed to spin. A sickly, darkness crept up Padmé’s spine. No! No! He couldn’t know. He couldn’t.

“They were born two days after the war ended,” Padmé’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Premature. I was quite ill. If they weren’t tested, I never knew.”

She hadn’t. Typho must have done it while she was still unconscious. The truth must have rung out in her voice, because Palpatine leaned back, seemingly surprised. Quickly, though he stood back up, strolling down the stairs and coming to Padmé’s side. She kept her face down as he reached out towards her, gently squeezing her shoulder. “My dear, I believe you. It is simply a tragedy their skills have gone unnoticed for so long. They are quite strong with the Force, and would present a grave danger to you and themselves. As I’m sure you are aware.”

Over the years, there had been oh-so-many accidents. Two highly Force Sensitive twins… their fights could be explosive. A temper tantrum from Leia had sent Luke to the hospital as a child. There was nothing malicious about it. And yet, Padmé couldn’t deny, their power frightened her sometimes.

Palpatine trailed a wrinkled hand across her shoulders in a way that made Padmé squirm. “Any other child, and I would be forced to take them in myself—for the safety of us all, Force Sensitives cannot go untrained—and yet I cannot bare the thought of separating you from your children.”

Padmé felt her blood boiling. No. If he tried taking her children away, she’d kill him. He was so close, surely even the red guard could not stop her. He’d be dead on the floor if he even suggested taking the twins. Padmé knew what had been happening to Force Sensitives this last decade. She knew of the Inquisitorius, of Darth Vader. Not her children, not ever.

Palpatine slowly made his way back to his throne, and Padmé cursed herself for missing her chance. The guards probably could stop her now. “But then, I realized that I had two problems which could easily have the same solution. You see, my dear, I am utterly lacking any heirs. Officially, Darth Vader, my enforcer, is to inherit, but I find him… ill-fit for leadership. But your children—with your mind for politics, their strength in the Force, and my tutelage—would make excellent successors.”

That…. was not what Padmé had expected him to say. Luke and Leia, the heirs to the Empire? She’d never heard something more ridiculous in her life. “They’re _ten_.”

He—the Emperor of the Galaxy—tsked her, “Do I look so old to you? I have no intention of dying anytime soon. However, if I was, I am certain you and Lord Vader would make sufficient regents, until the time came, and one of the twins was prepared to take the throne.”

That name again, Darth Vader. Padmé had scrounged the galaxy for any information she could find on him. He was the one who took or killed Force Sensitive children. He was the one who’d killed the Jedi, killed _Ani_. Padmé had needed to know everything she could find.

And what she found was nothing. No one knew where he’d come from. He’d simply been born with the Empire, a brutal killer, strong with the Force, a Sith, like Count Dooku. Padmé had only met the count a handful of times, but found him rather unpleasant, despite his charm. And she would never forget the Sith who’d attacked them on Tatooine, who’d killed Master Jinn. And they all said Darth Vader was worse then these.

“I think I could manage without Lord Vader’s assistance,” Padmé hissed, realizing almost too late the implied assent in her words.

Palpatine did not miss them. His smile stretched out like the depths of the sea—deadly and cold. “Oh, my dear, but you would. Order in this galaxy can only be maintained by use of the Force.”

“But you don’t have…” Padmé blanched. No. He couldn’t be saying. Except he clearly was. _And it makes so much sense._

“Yes, I am a Sith, but you have no reason to fear. It was my master who attacked Naboo, and I killed him for it. As both Darth Sidious and Chancellor Palpatine, I tried to ensure a Separatist victory, knowing, as you did, the grave harm the Republic had done to our people. Alas, the Jedi’s betrayal made that impossible, but here we are. They are dead, and yet, we Naboo survive. But only because I had the Force on my side.”

Padmé’s head spun. As a Separatist, she’d known she was working for a Sith Lord. The ends had justified the means. But it had been Palpatine all along, playing both sides. Padmé wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d done it for Naboo either. No, he’d done it for himself. The throne upon which he sat proved it.

“Which is why, for my plan to work, Darth Vader must become guardian to your children. He and I will train them together, protect them together, with you to guide them in matters of politics. And then, when the time comes, the worthier shall succeed me.”

“They’re my children. Darth Vader can’t have them,” Padmé snapped.

And yet, Palpatine shook his head. “My dear, you are not listening. I am doing this so you can keep your children. If you refuse me, then I will be forced to take them anyway, and you will never see them again. But if you agree to my proposal, Lord Vader will be in a position to ensure there are no more accidents at home.”

There was something Padmé was missing. Or maybe she knew exactly what he had to say, and the prospect was just too horrible for her to dare voice herself. “Why would Darth Vader be in my home?”

“Because, my dear, if you wish to keep your children, you will marry him.”

And with that, Padmé made one, final bad decision. Or—depending on your point of view—perhaps it was a good one.

* * *

Darth Vader was well-acquainted with bad decisions. He had never made any, but Anakin Skywalker… Anakin Skywalker had been weak. Anakin Skywalker’s continued existence was a bad decision.

So Darth Vader had killed him. And now, Vader had no use for decisions at all. He obeyed his passions and his master. That was the choice he’d made a decade ago, and the only good decision of Anakin Skywalker’s miserable life.

Still, Darth Vader had moments—rare moments—where his passion and his master conflicted, and he had to choose between them. One of these moments, then, occurred when his master demanded he return to Coruscant, instead of pursing a miserable pair of slavers who thought they could steal from the Empire.

Vader hated slavery, despised it. Not because of Anakin Skywalker—Anakin Skywalker was so pathetic, he had deserved to be ruled. No, Vader despised slavery because it was a _waste._ Many slaves were useless mouths to fill and were best discarded of. But there were some slaves, some who burned brighter than Tatooine’s suns. Shmi Skywalker, after all, had been magnificent. Had she been born to privilege instead of slavery, the galaxy would have bowed at her feet. Instead, she’d been born a slave, left to cook and clean and live in squander. It was a waste.

The pathetic slaves, like all pathetic lifeforms, should be left to starve. But Darth Vader despised slavery for what it did to women like Shmi Skywalker. And that had absolutely nothing to do with whom Vader had once been. Nothing at all.

So when Vader had received the order to return to Coruscant, he was tempted to ignore it. The Dark Side begged him to pursue the slavers, to wipe them and their miserable kind out of the galaxy. To see every last one of them burn outside his castle on Mustafar.

The temptation lasted only a moment. Darth Vader did not make bad decisions, and Darth Vader had no choice but to obey his master. So he had sent the 501 after the slavers, and returned himself to Coruscant.

As he knelt before his Master, however, Vader’s mind still wandered to the slavers. He had received no news from his men, but no doubt, they’d caught their victims already. Vader’s body ached as he kneeled upon the cold, palace floor. He hardly felt it, imagining instead the sight of blood splattered across his mask, the screaming of slavers. Hatred brimmed within him, the Dark Side flooding his veins with every rasp of his respirator.

His Master did not approve. “Your passions control you, my apprentice. You must learn to control them, to use them, if you are ever to truly master the Dark Side.”

Not that Darth Sidious had any desire for his apprentice to master the Dark Side, and they both knew it. Still, it was a façade they’d kept up for a decade. And Vader had learnt enough. His strength had grown beyond bounds, he had known power unlike any that could be imagined. He was strong with the Dark Side. Just not stronger than his master.

_Not yet._

“It is to that end that I have a new task for you. Your bloodlust has left some in this galaxy… concerned… about the prospect of your future rule. There are whispers of rebellion and these whispers must cease.”

Vader tightened his fists. He could practically feel the throats of these rebels. “I will enjoy the task, Master.”

“Perhaps,” Sidious paused, tapping the edge of his throne. The anticipation weighed upon Vader, but he did not move, despite the pain his suit caused. Darth Vader did not show any weakness; he had none, not any longer.

“However, your usual methods will not be effective in the long-term. Thus, I have had to make… other arrangements. Tell me, apprentice, do you recall Padmé Amidala?”

The name hit Vader life a star destroyer. Suddenly, he was thrown a decade into the past, and even further, to their childhood meeting. He could see the light glistening off her smile. He could hear her laugh. Taste her lips. Feel her smooth, hot skin….

“I see you do,” Sidious rarely removed his hood, but for his apprentice, he did. Probably just so Vader could see his sickening grin. “You always did have a certain fascination with her. And your lapse of judgement on Naboo caused the death of hundreds of clones—not that they mattered. But still, you desired her, you who have always desired so little. I remember… I remember.”

Vader did too. He didn’t want to, not at all, but there had never been a day when he had not thought of the way she had made him feel. But though passion was encouraged in the Sith, passionate love certainly was not. And so, Vader pushed the feelings deeper, hissing, “She was but flesh for youthful pleasure. What of her?”

“She had two children—twins—highly Force Sensitive. At first, I thought they might even be yours, but the test results prove otherwise. Still, for your sake, I was considering sparing them. But if you truly do not care, it would be best to kill them outright. They are far too powerful to make useful acolytes.”

Sith Lords did not like children. Darth Vader _hated_ them. Had they belonged to anyone else, Vader would have gladly assisted in their slaughter.

But Padmé. Vader could see the children in his mind. A boy, her nose, her rounded cheeks, but lighter hair. A girl, a replica of her mother, but with a sharpness to her face which did not quite fit. They were real enough Vader could have touched them. Padmé’s children.

“No. If they are as strong as you say, they would be far more useful to us alive.”

Vader tried to hide the desperation in his voice, and with the vocoder of his suit, he even managed it. But not only did his master have the Force, Darth Sidious was also intimately knowledgeable of his apprentice. They both knew Vader did care, perhaps more than he’d cared for anything in years.

So Sidious’s sneer simply stretched. “My thought exactly. As would their mother. Her talents are wasted on Naboo. I need her here, at court, if I am to control the vermin in the Senate. But to place so much power in one family is dangerous. I must be able to guarantee they remain loyal. And since you have so long desired her, the solution is simple. To guarantee both their loyalty to us and to our empire, you will marry Padmé Amidala and raise her children as if they are your own.”

Vader did not have a clue how to respond. Of the many, many tasks he’d endured for his master, there had never been something like this. Marry Padmé. Once, that may have been his deepest desire, but now… “She will never agree to this. I am a monster.”

“She already has agreed, and without any hesitation. Certainly, your injuries make nuptial arrangements less-desirable, but not impossible. And I care little for that. Touch her or don’t. The only children which matter are those she’s already born. I will, of course, aid in their training—the Imperial Fleet cannot go without its commander—but you will be responsible for ensuring they are worthy successors. The Rule of Two died with the Jedi. Train them well, and we will be unstoppable.”

Quite honestly, Vader cared little for the children. Not if it meant he got the mother. And although he hated himself for how badly he desired Padmé, if she had not hesitated. “Does she know… Who I was?”

Sidious laughed hard enough lightning crackled at his fingertips. “No, of course not. Anakin Skywalker is dead, is he not?”

For the first time in a decade, there was a hint of deception in Vader’s answer, “Yes, he is.”


End file.
